Four Minutes, TwentyFive Seconds
by Nagia
Summary: An ancient dance meme rears its ugly head once more in the mountains of Nibelheim. These are going to be the longest four minutes and twenty-five seconds in Sephiroth's life. Faith and Feather Universe, used with permission.


**Four Minutes, Twenty-Five Seconds**

* * *

Sephiroth was still learning the dynamics of this large group of people, most of whom were familiar. That Cloud and Reno did not get along was self-evident, had been self-evident from the start. But what he remembered of Reno told him that Reno did not get along with most people, not really. The others of this group were not so ridiculously socially handicapped. They had formed smaller groups, all of them tightly-knit, and the former general was slowly beginning to memorize their members.

To say that he was surprised to see Cid, Reno, and Barret all on the front step of the Shinra Manor—it would never be Vincent Valentine's home to him; it had been Shinra's first, and Shinra's foremost, and it would never be a home to anyone—would have been an understatement. He showed nothing of his surprise, however, simply continuing up the steps, faintly conscious of the kodachi hanging from the belt he'd borrowed from Rude. Barret had been quite insistent, at one point, about not wanting him armed. And now that he'd procured one on his own, he had no idea what Barret or Cid might say about it, and had no desire to learn from experience.

For a miracle, though, none of the trio said a word about the sword. To Sephiroth's faint surprise, even Barret had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Until this point, he hadn't thought the machine-gunner smoked.

"Don't go in there," Cid said around his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose.

Sephiroth allowed his eyes to narrow just a fraction. "Pardon me?"

Reno took a long drag, exhaled, and then stubbed the cigarette on his shoe. He took a deep breath, then pulled his arms behind his head, elbows out, and leaned back. The picture of a Turk in the only relaxed position they knew: liquid confidence and smoky pride.

"'member the Chocarena?"

He went stiff. Yes, he remembered the Chocarena. He remembered it quite well, actually, in all its chocobo-dancing horror. There were flapping arms and lifted legs and spirited imitations of surfing, as he recalled. Zack had been quite fond of it. Had thrown himself into it every time he heard it.

"Looks like he does," Cid said, taking another drag and passing a lighter over to Reno as the Turk pulled a cigarette out of a carton in an impressive display of oral coordination.

"Was there an album in the house?" Sephiroth asked, voice perfectly bland, perfectly neutral. Zack would have recognized that as a bad sign. It was a sign that his patience had been breached.

They had awakened him in the cold, dragged him, untrusting, here, where even more people had stared at him out of the corners of their eyes and startled like frightened animals. Like they expected him to start casting Fire3 on puppies and trying to stab everything in sight. None of them could even be bothered to explain anything to him, and now he was going to have suffer the indignity of watching multiple people—many of whom were strangely familiar, and almost all of whom were potential threats—relive that ridiculous dancing sensation.

"Radio," Cid grunted while Barret simply rolled his eyes.

Reno lit his cigarette and took a very long drag. He closed his eyes and exhaled thin black smoke, then took another very long drag. Three drags later, he finally opened his eyes and muttered, in a faintly raspy voice, "WNKM got a request for a double-header."

If possible, Sephiroth's spine went even stiffer. WNKM was the terrible radio station in this one-truck town. Its radio tower was at the base of the mountain. It played from Nibelheim to Cosmo and Rocket Town, he knew, and it frequently received requests for ancient and terrible songs such as "Candy Girl." Though how he knew any of that, he couldn't quite recall.

The point was: a double-playing of Chocarena? Surely he was in hell.

"This is easily fixed," he said in a perfectly rational tone of voice. After all, if he didn't sound emotional, then they wouldn't know exactly what he would do to the radio with his kodachi.

Reno arched an eyebrow, his mouth a strange cupid's bow smile around the cigarette stub in his mouth. But for once the Turk didn't argue. He didn't even move from his habitual slouch as he side-stepped from the door. Typical Turk: linger and laze until given a very pressing reason not to.

Inside the mansion, Sephiroth could hear faint strains of the music. With its peppy attitude, constant clap effects, and the strange Surf interlude, it was no wonder the song was so popular and had been so since just before the tail end of the war. Back before the war had been officially over, he'd often heard Wutaians improvising it with their taiko and their sitars, on the nights they hadn't all been trying to kill each other.

And Zack danced every time.

The music grew louder and more insistent the deeper into the house he went, until finally he found the old café and was shocked to find the jukebox-turned-radio blaring out the insistent flap beat of the first strains of the song. Predictably, it was the ninja girl—Yuffie, he thought her name was—who began the dance.

She was the one with the most energy, after all. A series synchronized "wing-flaps," and then, still flapping her elbows, she began to turn to the side while lifting one leg, then went back down on both legs and resumed elbow flapping.

Aeris wasn't far behind, joining for the final flaps and then the next series of movements.

Discreetly, Sephiroth made his way along the wall, shocked to find that Feather had not fled, and even more shocked to find that Vincent Valentine was watching the affair with an arched eyebrow and a finger on a Heal materia.

Vincent's eyes flicked to look at him, then back at the group of dancing fighters.

They were silent for several long moments before Vincent finally shifted his position. He crossed his right leg over his left and let the point of his boot rest over the ground. It was a sign that he was listening, Sephiroth knew that much at least. It was also (highly probably) a sign that Vincent was listening in an "extreme prejudice" sort of way, and whatever he heard had better be worth it. In some matters, Turks never changed.

But rather than ask a difficult question, Vincent simply looked at the wiggling Yuffie Kisaragi, who was mock-surfing toward Aerith—who was mock surfing right back toward the ninja—and let out a faint sigh.

"…is this compulsive?"

Sephiroth considered the question. Even Rude had been known to tap his toe (if only exactly once) to this song.

"It's not a status defect, if that's what you're asking," he replied.

Reeve, from his place near Feather, offered, "It was a cultural meme that spread all the way to Wutai during the tail end of the war."

Vincent tucked away the Heal materia and resumed his more closed position. Exactly what that meant--apart from the fact that he wasn't pleased, as per usual--Sephiroth couldn't say. Those red eyes, that red cape, were familar, but the man himself wasn't. As if they'd never actually _known_ each other.

Yuffie and Aeris slapped each other's palms in a gesture he had not seen since Zack. But when Aeris turned away, he could have sworn he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.

For reasons he preferred not to think about--what was this vague, indefinable guilt? Why the sense of sorrow?--the sight of the wetness in her eyes made him angry. Perhaps it was the force of the woman's own personality. It was entirely possible that Aeris instilled the same urges in others that she awoke in him, the desire to dismantle the rest of the world and put it back together properly.

It was as if her belief in humanity, in the rightness of things, could infect others. Had infected him. He wanted the world to be the way she saw it. He wanted to _make_ it so.

"I guess you can't blame them," Reeve said, voice light in a deceptively mild tone. He was giving the barest hint of a warning to someone. Whether that warning was aimed at himself or at Vincent, Sephiroth couldn't tell.

Sephiroth agreed. "They're children, after all."

Vincent looked sharply at him. His disapproval was evident. But it was clear, from Vincent's constant disapproval and the reactions of the others--the Turks registered but ignored it, Cloud was faintly unnerved but presenting a stiff upper lip, Tifa and Aeris seemed worried, it rolled off of Yuffie the way water rolled off stone--that he was on edge. But what could bother a former Turk?

Sephiroth didn't want to think about that, either. And he didn't want to see the tears in Aeris's eyes. So he did the only sensible thing to do: he looked away, first looking at former jukebox, and then at the group's apparent leader, Cloud. Cloud was dancing along in a fashion that reminded him almost painfully of Zack.

Looking back, thinking back, he found it almost sad that his closest friend had been a man he worked hard to keep at bay as a mere business associate.

And now they were all mock surfing in earnest as the song reached its surf interlude.

Sephiroth grappled with the desire to stab the jukebox. He could probably take the electric shock that would result. Almost certainly. He didn't need to be at his full strength to do so.

The song was just too damnably peppy. He curled his left hand around the hilt of his kodachi, even though that might bring Reeve's notice to it, and longed to do something about this interminable music.

These were shaping up to be the longst four minutes and twenty-five seconds of his life.

He watched as the three highest ranking members of the group and a teenaged ninja all performed a ridiculous dance sensation. Apparently, even on edge Cloud had a sense of humor, though Sephiroth guessed it was most likely solidarity with Tifa and Aeris.

The song ended on a summation of notes and one final blip, to which the assembled hopped.

The song was over. There was a brief pause as the disc jockey began to fill the air with silly, nonsense reminders of how and when the Chocarena had achieved popularity, before the next song began to play.

"I thought love," a young voice crooned, "was only true in fairy tales..."

Sephiroth twitched, but before he could do or say anything, there was a mad scramble to turn the ex-jukebox off. It went off with a snick as Cloud nearly broke the knob.

"I think we should never listen to the radio here again," the apparent ex-SOLDIER said, his voice surprisingly firm.

Yuffie mimicked Reno's earlier position with her hands interlaced behind her head as she stretched her spine backwards. "You guys can totally blame me, if you want. The wicked materia thief strikes again, but this time she stole your dignity!"

Aeris's reply was a giggle, which she covered politely with her hand. "How generous of you, Yuffie."

Apparently, the ninja missed the sarcasm, or considered herself above it. The others didn't; Tifa's voice wasn't the only one upraised in laughter. Alone amongst AVALANCHE, only Vincent didn't laugh. Yuffie went red, raised a hand to scratch at the back of her head in a nervous gesture that looked familiar. He had seen it somewhere before, but where, he didn't know. His past was nebulous.

Better to just live in the present.

Cloud turned to look at him, those glowing blue eyes suddenly gone narrow, and Sephiroth realised his hand was still curved around the hilt of his kodachi. Drawing attention to it from Cloud, certainly, if not from everyone else. Quickly, he released it, smoothed his hand against the borrowed trousers, then adjusted his braid.

"You wanna explain that sword?" The SOLDIER's voice was more amused than angry, but there was a touch of command to his tone.

For the first time in years, despite how unspeakably old he felt, Sephiroth found himself at a loss for how to reply.

* * *

END

* * *

Notes: For Rose Flame. The Chocarena is an actual song. Check for a download. Faith&Feather universe used with permission.


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